


Until the Orange Sunrise

by greygerbil



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Anger born of worry, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Red Hawke (Dragon Age), Reunion, Smaller character wears larger character's clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 13:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20908145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: An unexpected visitor walks straight into Varric's home in the middle of the night.





	Until the Orange Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asymptotical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asymptotical/gifts).

The dagger that laid under Varric’s pillow these nights was Cordova’s Smile, a weapon that had once belonged to a famous Antivan Crow, sporting a round blade in the shape of a sickle, but ever so slightly bent outwards, ready to be plunged into flesh and tear chunks out when it was pulled back. The Inquisitor had let him keep it when he made back for Kirkwall and it had already served him well a couple of times in defending himself against people whose polite disagreement with his political stances took the form of paid killers.

As he sneaked down the stairs on naked feet now, he gripped Cordova’s Smile tightly. He could blend with the shadows as well as any rogue who didn’t plan on getting parts lopped off, but the stairs were old and had a tendency to creak in the most inopportune moments, so he had to cling to the balustrade and feel his way with his toes.

It was the noise of the front door that had woken him, followed by heavy footsteps in the entrance hall, but they had subsided now. Through the broad open doorway Varric saw a shadowy figure stand with his back to the staircase, looking at the wall. By Varric’s estimates, he’d be gazing at a picture of narrow Lowtown alleys painted by an elven artist who had frequented the Hanged Man back in the day. He’d decided that if he had to live in Hightown so he didn’t make it all too easy for the assassins, now that he had really given them a reason to cut his throat, he’d want to keep a little piece of his favourite place in Kirkwall with him.

The figure lifted their head and turned it so that a beam of moonlight falling through the window caught its features, revealing a thick, short-cropped beard and tousled shock of unruly hair, dark eyes under a drawn brow. The frown lines were etched permanently in the familiar face after all these years. Varric’s heart seized.

“You almost had my dagger between your ribs, you know?” he said, as he jumped down the last two steps with a muffled _thud_.

Hawke flinched, hand going to his sword, but relaxed almost immediately.

“Did you forget you gave me the keys to your house?”

“I didn’t expect you back from Weisshaupt yet.”

Varric pushed the dagger under the leather band that held the old shirt he wore to bed around his hips. It was a human one, as long as a tunic on him, sleeves always dangling down around his fingertips. It had been Hawke’s at some point. He complained when Varric stole them – two had already made their way into his wardrobe –, but never actually asked Varric to hand them over.

“Luck with the weather on the journey back,” Hawke murmured, looking him up and down.

Though Hawke would never admit it, Varric knew he liked the get-up. He’d proven it a couple times when they were between the sheets for other reasons than a good night’s sleep; but perhaps more poignant had been the moments when he’d played with the hem of the shirt as they laid next to each other afterwards, smoothing the fabric down over Varric’s body.

Varric reached up. When he cupped Hawke’s face, he found it wet and cold, beard damp.

“Seems more like determination than good fortune to me,” he muttered. He wouldn’t tease Hawke too much about it because knowing he’d hurried back to him was too nice to ruin it with a joke.

Hawke kissed him, possibly to shut him up. Varric had so missed it.

“I still can’t believe you put that crossbow aside,” Hawke said when he leaned back, brushing the dagger with his thumb.

“I figured it was just unfair on my enemies to keep using Bianca. I was too good,” Varric said with a smirk. “And, well, considering recent events... it seemed right.”

Hawke and him had been sleeping together since before Kirkwall blew up, but some murmured acknowledgements of greater attachment had only followed their narrow escape from the Fade. Varric was a good shot and perhaps he’d pick up another crossbow sometime, but it had been time to lay Bianca aside with all the memories that he’d allowed to grow from soft and melancholy into painful and ugly things. It had felt like the break with the past he’d needed, even if learning to dual-wield while following a crazy ancient magister around southern Thedas had been a challenge and a half.

Hawke gave a grumbling hum. It was the best you could expect of him as verbal affection went most days, but his hands grew tight on Varric’s arms, the pointed tips of his armoured gloves digging into his muscle, and Varric knew that he appreciated the gesture.

“So have people in Anders gotten the news twisted or are you really the Viscount now?” Hawke asked. “When I heard about that, I made for Kirkwall immediately.”

Varric could hardly blame him for being incredulous. This was something he could still barely believe himself.

“I didn’t volunteer for the spot, but no one wanted that particular target on their back right now. When a city is flagging like this, there’s always enough vultures ready to protect the corpse they’re about to pick a part, keep it nice and dead. But I’m sure in a couple of years people will try to topple me again, so that will be fun.”

“If you know it’s dangerous, why did you take the job? Are you mad?” Hawke answered, voice raised to a thunderous growl. “There is a reason no one wanted it!”

“Yeah, but nevertheless, someone had to do it, so... shit, it may as well be me. I don’t want this city to go down the drain.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Besides, when did you get the impression that I didn’t like danger?”

“That won’t be funny anymore if you have a knife in your back,” Hawke pointed out gruffly.

“True, but if I’m really lucky, I may have a big, tall human around who might keep an eye on me.”

Hawke grunted.

“Since you insist on doing such foolish things, I guess I have to.”

“I’m basically trapping you here, obviously,” Varric answered, raising a brow. “No choice of yours at all.”

Hawke gave him a gentle shove. He almost smiled. Varric grabbed his wrist and kissed the icy iron that covered his knuckles.

“Let’s go to bed. You need to tell me all about Weisshaupt tomorrow, but I can’t take most of this Viscount stuff on under five hours of sleep. Besides, there’s going to be a hundred people who will want to see you once they learn of your return, so you’ll definitely need the rest.”

For now, however, in these few small hours until sunrise, he didn’t have to share Hawke with anyone just yet. Hawke followed him and left his armour and garments on the ground in Varric’s bedroom, climbing into his bed in only his underclothes. He was cold to the bone and when he put his arms around him, Varric shivered, but he figured that with the rate at which his heartbeat was thumping in his ears as he gently tried to rub some heat back into Hawke’s skin, he’d warm up again quickly.


End file.
